


The Color Between The Lines

by sno4wy



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types, Forgotten Realms, The Legend of Drizzt Series - R. A. Salvatore
Genre: Human disguise, M/M, Waterdeep: Dragon Heist, Zardoz, lavendar, skimpily-clad pirate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-25 23:13:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17130530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sno4wy/pseuds/sno4wy
Summary: Entreri tries to reconcile himself to Jarlaxle's bizarre human disguise, in the process uncovering feelings that he can't understand or want to acknowledge.





	1. Chapter 1

“Can we not finish this discussion here?”

The assassin scowled, as a peal of thunder rumbled overhead mid-sentence. His companion was already halfway down the ratline.

“Jarlaxle, I don’t have time for this–" 

A flash of lightning drew the drow’s gaze upward, and the human saw himself reflected in those ruby eyes, silhouetted starkly against the stormy sky, and as diminutive as a piece of driftwood bobbing in the endless surf.

No longer interested in finishing his thought, Entreri clambered out of the crow’s nest. The wind had already picked up enough that it took more than an afterthought to maintain his surefootedness down the swaying shroud.

Jarlaxle didn’t look back again as he crossed the stern. As soon as Entreri’s foot touched the deck, so, too did a raindrop, followed by another, and then another. Shaking his head, the exasperated man quick-stepped to the drow’s heels, managing to duck into cover right as the drops coalesced into sheets. Together, the dampened figure, led by his completely dry counterpart, descended into the gaudy ship’s hold, the latter’s steps beating out the rhythm to the carnival tune that he whistled, while the former issued no more noise than the faint swishing of a heavy cloak. 

The descent plunged them into darkness, but neither was impeded. Unlike his companion however, the assassin spared a heartbeat to scan the upper hold before turning his back on it to follow the mercenary further down. Entreri resisted the urge to repeat the precaution upon reaching the lowest level, for the drow had turned to face him, holding open the door and invitingly waving him in. If the warm light spilling into the gloomy corridor wasn’t enough to compel an ordinary individual inward, the sweet scent of lavender surely would’ve completed the seduction. However, Artemis Entreri was no ordinary person, and he leveled his gaze upon his companion the whole while as he entered, stopping just barely past the threshold. 

Jarlaxle sighed and threw up his hands. “You don’t always have to be so difficult, you know,” he said as he tried to step past Entreri. His silken sleeve brushed against the assassin’s cloak, instantly absorbing the moisture that had failed to permeate the weatherproofed fabric. The mercenary exclaimed in dismay.

“If you continue to frown like that, your face will become more wrinkled than my late mother’s, Lolth eat her soul,” Jarlaxle chided as he bodily pushed his companion into the room. Entreri didn’t resist, his eyes having found the only other humanoid figure in the room. Unlike the two of them however, it wasn’t made of flesh, but it was clad so garishly that he might’ve mistaken it for Jarlaxle himself. 

 _A silent and thus improved version of Jarlaxle_ , the assassin thought with a smirk.

“There, that’s more like it!” Entreri snapped his eyes back to see a satisfied grin on the ebony features. He immediately repaired his expression back to a scowl, but Jarlaxle had already turned away.

“You have many capable scouts at your disposal,” Entreri began, his mind going to the vague, canvas-covered shapes that he’d scanned in the upper hold. He’d caught a glimpse of a shadow dashing between the ribs of a wooden dragon skeleton. “You don’t need me for this.”

“Oh, but I do, my  _abbil_!” Jarlaxle spun around, proffering a glass filled with a dark liquid. Entreri started to decline, but decided to allow the drow to hand him the glass. He didn’t move it closer to his lips however, didn’t, in fact, move his hand at all, as he watched the mercenary shrug off his cloak.

“Capable they are, but not so capable as you,” Jarlaxle smiled at the predictable snort sounding out from behind him. 

“Above all, you are human, and that makes you better for the task than any of them.”

“I’m certain that they would disagree on both counts.”

“They may think what they wish, but they would not be so foolish as to make certain thoughts known.” Jarlaxle’s voice didn’t lose its levity, but Entreri recognized the small shift in his tone, as subtle as the change in the air before the clouds thickened in the clear autumn sky.

“I would not normally accept this level of contract, regardless of the pay.” The assassin quirked an eyebrow as the drow began unbuttoning his tunic.

“I know, which is why I specifically requested this as a personal favor.”

“It isn’t like you to worry about a ragtag band of hardly-adventurers.”

“I suppose I’ve learned to be more paranoid, thanks to my time with you!” Jarlaxle turned and beamed at Entreri. The assassin’s eyes followed the mercenary as he pulled off his tunic and hung it on the nearby chair.

The gray eyes narrowed. “What’s your game, Jarlaxle?”

The drow’s delicate fingers, which were working their way down his shirt, paused as he looked up, ruby eyes shining with innocence. “Why, undressing of course! After you so rudely dampened my fine clothing, I’m surprised that you’d need to ask!”

“Not that!” Entreri set down his glass on the nearby table with a loud “clack”. The liquid within swished violently, but none splashed out. 

“What is the point of this? Of all of this?” The human pointed emphatically at the door, then waved his arm in an arc indicating the stretch of the ship above them.

The drow’s eyes followed his hand, and Entreri caught a hint of wistfulness before the brimming confidence filled the dark red gaze again. “All in good time, my  _abbil._ I promise that you’ll know all in good time.”

Entreri recognized the caginess and knew that no matter how hard he pressed, he wouldn’t get anything else from his companion until the wily mercenary was ready to talk. 

“Give me the details,” the resigned man said with a sigh.

Jarlaxle had already pulled out a small scroll from a pocket, and handed it to Entreri while Entreri was still speaking. The assassin accepted the scroll with a deadpan stare. His expression betraying nothing as he mutely read its contents. Although he didn’t understand why Jarlaxle had gone to the length of taking that extra precaution in his own lair, Entreri knew well enough not to ask or to doubt.

One reading was enough for him to commit the contents to memory, so when he looked up again, it was in search of the candle whose flame he could borrow. Instead, he was halted by the sight of the drow stepping out of his breeches.

“What now?!” Entreri didn’t bother to keep the exasperation out of his voice. “Did I ruin your pants too with rainwater?”

Jarlaxle laughed. “Hardly! But I do need to change. I’m expecting guests.”

The assassin’s countenance drew tight, his gaze sharpened. “This is happening right now?”

Jarlaxle nodded casually. “Yes.”

“You could’ve given me more warning.”

“You don’t need it.” Again, Entreri understood the unspoken as keenly as he heard that which was uttered.

Silently, the assassin watched as the mercenary scooped up his wide-brimmed hat and plopped it on his head. It didn’t surprise him that the flamboyant drow would don this article first, even if he had to remove it again later to put on other things. Entreri only half-watched as Jarlaxle disappeared behind the purple curtain, his mind already sketching out his plan given his memorized layout of the ship. 

What emerged from behind the purple curtains blew apart Entreri’s intricate sketch like a cannonball through a house of straw. He stared, but it was far from his usual leveled stare. Instead, his eyes flitted about the strange figure like a seagull caught in violent winds. His gaze couldn’t quite decide where to land, on the fair-skinned features, or the long and dark wavy hair that led down to one of the most ridiculous costumes that he’d ever seen. The human, or at least, Entreri guessed him to be human by his skin tone and hair color, was wearing nothing but his smallclothes, two crossing bandoleers, and a hat. 

 _Jarlaxle’s hat_ , the assassin realized.

 _And Jarlaxle’s smallclothes_ , Entreri’s mind added as an afterthought even though he wished that it hadn’t. 

Although he already had most of the circumstance sorted, the assassin’s jaw still dropped open, his hands going instinctively to his weapons, and the only thing stopping him from drawing those deadly blades was the all-too-familiar smirk on that foreign/familiar visage.

 _No, not foreign at all_ , Entreri mused, his eyes absorbing the distinctive features. The “stranger”’s mane was even more distracting than the loss of the striking contrast between snow-white eyebrows against obsidian-black skin. Despite that fact, there was no doubt that Entreri recognized those high cheekbones, that elegantly arched nose, and those well-formed lips. Even the ridiculous curving mustache couldn’t deceive him. Nonetheless the assassin had to force his body to relax, as the sudden onset and departure of adrenaline left him lightheaded. 

“Agatha’s Mask?” Entreri asked, his voice as worn as though he’d just swam in the Sea of Swords. “No, wait, don’t tell me, I don’t wish to know.”

Jarlaxle laughed, and the unchanged timbre of his voice refreshed the assassin’s senses. Entreri couldn’t help but smile self-deprecatingly at having been lulled into the false belief that he’d grown immune to being surprised by the unpredictable drow. 

He watched, intrigued, as Jarlaxle touched his hat, changing it from purple to black, the white feather dying itself red. The assassin didn’t realize that his discomfort had risen again until the changed drow dipped into his usual elaborate bow, complete with the sweeping of his transformed hat across the floor, the assassin’s discomfiture mirroring his companion’s lithely twisting form.

“Captain Zardoz Zord, at your service!” Jarlaxle proclaimed, and Entreri scowled.

“What?”

“That name is as ridiculous as that mustache.”

Jarlaxle laughed and hooked a finger in one curved point of his mustache, then twirled it. 

Entreri rolled his eyes and tilted his head at the bandoleers. “I see that you’re fully indulging in this pirate nonsense. I trust that you’ve at least tested the hand cannons, or whatever it is that they’re called, the ammunition of which you’ve decided to employ as adornment for your body?”

His sarcasm dispelled the rest of his shock, allowing another realization to dawn on him. 

“How do you intend to finish dressing when your bandoleers are already so…. form fitting?”

By the way Jarlaxle laughed, Entreri knew his error.

Still, he couldn’t quite believe it. “You’re… you’re going to meet with your special guests, wearing that,” he chanced. His voice flattened. “Wearing  _only_ that.”

“Astute as always, my  _abbil_! After all, I  _did_  promised my guests dinner with a view!” Jarlaxle crowed, and Entreri fought the urge to run a hand down his face. 

Countless questions formed in the assassin’s mind, though he thought he didn’t wish to know any of the answers. In truth, he had to struggle to contain some inquiries that he most certainly wouldn’t even allow the drow the satisfaction of hearing asked. He studied the foreign yet familiar figure before him, his discomfort returning again. Yet, despite the inexplicable disquiet he felt when he looked upon that strange visage, the perplexed man found it difficult not to stare. He ripped his gaze to the brightly-clad construct standing silently in its vigil, and forced his scrutiny in search of anything about the strange automaton that might compromise their privacy. Despite his best attempts to focus however, the strange unease mounted quicker than before he’d tore his eyes away.

Movement at the peripheral of the assassin’s vision defeated his efforts of focusing on the flashier of the two figures in the room. The mercenary-turned-pirate captain was preening before a full-length mirror, his back turned to the discomfited man.

 _Just for a breath_ , Entreri’s subconscious whispered as he took in his companion’s frame. The more he looked, the more his disquiet faded, and his eyes greedily drank in every contour, every shadow, every landmark that he knew, despite the hue that he did not. He might’ve questioned his intensity if his scrutiny hadn’t eased him as it always did when he studied the unknown.

A twitch of muscle on Jarlaxle’s back was all the warning Entreri needed, and when the mercenary turned around, the assassin’s eyes were back on the automaton.

“If you like it so, I can arrange to have one made for you,” Jarlaxle inserted himself between Entreri and the construct. Entreri narrowed his eyes and scowled, and when Jarlaxle turned away with a laugh, the assassin was surprised to find himself suppressing a sigh of relief.

 _Just for a breath_ , his subconscious whispered again, as the assassin’s dark eyes alighted on his companion’s profile. Despite his best efforts, the observant man couldn’t imagine away the light skin, and the recollection of the drow accusing him of lacking imagination a lifetime ago barged into his mind. Irritated, Entreri glared at that ridiculous mustache, but sadly, rather than setting the object aflame, the ferocity of his gaze only framed his own vision with red.

The assassin cut his eyes down from his companion’s head to rake the so-called Zardoz’s form. Were those shoulders wider, or was that an illusion cast by the wavy locks? Was his chest broader, or was that the deception wrought by his changed skin? Were the sleek muscles lining his abdomen more protuberant, or was that the framing of the ridiculous belts? Were his hips more pronounced, or was that an effect of the low contour that his tightly-wrapped smallclothes traced over his pelvis, dipping so deep as to nearly join with the sharp curves cutting high over his thighs?

“Artemis…” the drow’s soft melodic tones called the assassin back from his trance, and Entreri realized that it had been more than just a breath. He might’ve felt chagrin, but instead, when he looked into dark brown eyes instead of the expected rich red, all he felt was isolation.

Entreri cleared his throat. “They’ll be here soon,” he said, his own tone soft, the most that he could manage and still keep it detached. He approached the door, but found his hand heavy as an anchor as he lifted it to the knob. 

“Where will you keep your magic items?” the assassin asked, his mind refusing to acknowledge his question as an excuse to look back again. His gaze alighted upon hands with skin lighter than his own, and the observation displeased him. His eyes reflexively began tracing those delicate fingers, one by one, ascertaining the graceful lines of each digit, but try as he might, he couldn’t ignore the color that filled those lines.

“I don’t need them, I have you,” the musical voice murmured, and Entreri felt his lightheadedness return.

“I know that’s not true,” he managed gruffly, and forced himself to shove open the door. It banged against the wall, the clamor echoing wretchedly in his chest. “Your incense is giving me a headache.”

“It’s not the incense,” Jarlaxle quietly replied, but only the nimblewright heard him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The artwork by Scott Murphy that inspired this fic. Link to the artist's Facebook where this was originally posted: https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10101506099366819&set=a.591860988899&type=3&theater

**Words from the artist:**

> Today I’d like to share perhaps one of the strangest commissions I’ve done to date…This piece was created as a kind of visual concept for a recent Dungeons & Dragons book. The story behind it is that the writers wanted to see a scene showing the cunning Drow mercenary, Jarlaxle, in his human disguise as leader of a traveling pirate carnival. That human disguise also happens to be an homage to the 1974 Sean Connery film, Zardoz…  
>  Here we see him inviting us into his captains quarters for a fine meal with a view!  
>    
>  12.5" x 18"  
>  oil on sealed watercolor paper.  
>  Original is available, contact me for details. 

**Author's Note:**

> Have you ever had something really familiar to you undergo a change, and even though you know it’s the same thing, the little differences really throws you for a loop? What about if that familiar thing is someone who’s a pillar in your life, or at the very least, so central to it that you can’t really imagine life without them? 
> 
> I’ve found that even a small change in something intimate can make everything feel surreal, and a bigger change can be scary or even cause dissociation. Despite the saying, “familiarity breeds contempt”, we humans seem to draw a lot of comfort from familiarity, and we tend to grow attached to things that we’re consistently exposed to a lot of. And Artemis is definitely exposed to a lot of Jarlaxle (no pun intended :P).
> 
> I’ve always felt that it would take a long time for Artemis to be willing to acknowledge an attraction to Jarlaxle, and much of what makes that attraction possible would be built on Jarlaxle’s familiarity to him. In this piece inspired by Waterdeep: Dragon Heist and Scott Murphy’s painting of Jarlaxle’s human disguise (see next chapter for the artwork and the artist's notes), with Artemis I was trying more for those jarring kinds of feelings that come with confronting something really familiar rendered foreign, rather than outright attraction. Of course, I wanted the attraction undertones too, but it’s way too early for Artemis to be lusting after Jarlaxle even a little bit, so I don’t know if I made those undertones too pronounced. :\ In any case, Artemis’ sense of self-preservation is so deeply ingrained that I figured he wouldn’t question why he’s so obsessed with fixing what feels wrong to him, especially since blaming his self-preservation would also allow him to not acknowledge that there’s something else going on. >_>


End file.
